Once Upon A December
by PinkFairy727
Summary: He'd done this every year since he'd arrived in Cardiff. He knew everybody had little rituals and traditions, especially at this time of year." Written for the Jantolution Challenge #15 - December. Jack/Ianto


**Title: **Once Upon A December

**Rating: **PG-13

**Characters: **Jack/Ianto

**Word Count: **1080

**Summary: **_This was his tradition._

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Torchwood or anything related to it.

**Authors Notes: **I need to thank three people for their invaluable help with this: phoenix_angel89" for listening to me babble on and reading the first 300 words, mrs_cj_harkness for giving me encouragement and finally misswinterhill for fixing my tenses and other little problems.

I realise Cardiff does not get much snow so I'm claiming artistic license with aspect to the Cardiff weather.

* * *

**Once Upon A December**

He'd done this every year since he'd arrived in Cardiff. He knew everybody had little rituals and traditions, especially at this time of year.

The annual switch on of the City Centre lights, accompanied by a brass band, lots of excited little kids and a pretend Santa complete with toy reindeer.

Drunken men and women endlessly murdering 'Wham!' and 'Mariah Carey' songs during Karaoke Night at their local, yet everyone was so full of the holiday spirit that no one complained about the poor vocals. A few days ago, he had stopped outside one bar listening to the best rendition of 'Silent Night' he'd heard in years. Glancing through the window, he could see the punters and staff alike all staring open-mouthed in silent shock at the pale blonde girl in front of them, until simultaneously bursting into a standing ovation much to the young girl's embarrassment.

The high-street shops playing 'Keeping up with the Jones'', trying to out-decorate each other; a competition that was currently being won by one of the little coffee shops, much to the chagrin of the manager of Starbucks. Even the Tourist Information Centre had a small plastic tree on the corner of its desk.

This was his tradition.

During the first snowfall of winter he would climb to the highest point and watch it fall, watch this city he had come to love and care for be purified and enveloped in a white blanket.

Snow was a lot like people. It started off pure, innocent and untouched, yet it never lasted. It became soiled, murky, damaged. It was also deceptive - there was no doubting its beauty but it was cold, fickle and would probably be gone in the morning.

This was another lie. He told enough lies without lying to himself as well.

Snow wasn't a metaphor for people. It was a metaphor for _him_.

Still, he knew he didn't have long now. Only a few years at max; and after a century of waiting a bit longer wouldn't kill him...not permanently anyway. He glanced at his watch; he should probably be getting back about now, he still had a number of things to do today and he could always come back later. He preferred the night sky anyway; it made him feel closer to home, to them, to the man he used to be.

He took one last look at the horizon before turning around and making his way back to the Hub, his long coat billowing out behind him.

*

He missed the first snowfall one year.

He didn't get to see the kids eagerly dragging their parents towards the large tree in the City Centre, some of whom were just as excited as their children.

He didn't get to listen to Christmas carols – well sung or otherwise.

He didn't get to see Gwen and Tosh decorate the Hub while Owen snarked and made snide comments from the sidelines, grinning all the while. Nor did Ianto bring him the good cookies with his last coffee on Christmas Eve, before pulling him out of the Hub and back to the Welshman's flat, refusing to even entertain the notion of spending Christmas at work. He didn't get the chance to mock-protest even as he was pulling on his coat and wrapping his fingers around the small, neatly wrapped, gift hidden in his pocket.

He was glad that traditions weren't the only things that could be changed.

*

They did this every year since he'd arrived back in Cardiff.

He still stands on the roof of Capital Tower, but the view has changed almost beyond recognition since he first started this tradition. Hell – it has changed drastically in the last few years alone, most of which was unscheduled and devastating to the beautiful city. He still loves looking at the stars, but this time the desire to be out there among them is nowhere near as strong as it used to be. Maybe it would be again one day, but not today. He'd been given the chance to leave on several occasions, but he now felt drawn to this place like he'd once been drawn to the stars.

This is home now. This city, this time, this life.

He still goes to the same roof for the first snowfall of winter – and that is where the similarities end.

Sometimes he is up here a few minutes, sometimes it is a few hours, but he never goes home alone. He always moves back from the edge slightly when he hears the fire-exit open and soft footsteps approach him. He knows his partner still gets nervous when he stands right on the edge, despite his unique abilities.

He smiles and moves towards the younger man, smiling even brighter when his own grin is returned. He is greeted with a kiss before a cup of warm coffee is pressed into one hand and frozen fingers intertwine with the fingers of his other. The younger man frowns as he looks down at their clasped hands, before speaking in the slow Welsh accent he's come to know and love so well.

"Your hands are cold."

"So are yours."

Neither of them moves for a while, except to occasionally squeeze the other's hand just that little bit tighter, before relaxing their grip again. Some years they stand there for hours, some it is only minutes, one time they stood there for the entire night, just watching the moon glide silently across the sky.

He knows that one day this tradition will also end, or will at least be modified again, but he doesn't dwell on it. He learnt the hard way to live for today and not tomorrow.

The Doctor and Rose may have made him immortal, but it was Ianto who reminded him how to be human, who forced him to live life again. This was one relationship he wouldn't and couldn't run away from. Eventually he turned to the young man beside him, the one person who was always there, who always knew what he needed: be it coffee, a dressing down, or to hold and be held so tightly that they were both left with finger-shaped bruises.

He raises their joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of Ianto's hand.

"Ready to go home?"

Ianto smiles softly at Jack before leading him away from the roof, down the stairs, and back to the flat they share a few streets away, keeping their hands joined at all times.


End file.
